


Flite

by babyteeth



Category: Journey into Mystery
Genre: Gen, Humor, a lot of inadvertent alliteration, kind of Ikol/Loki if you squint?, some creepily domestic Ikol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 06:06:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyteeth/pseuds/babyteeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki was a restless sleeper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flite

With the soft clicking of talons, Ikol landed on his master's window still. Fresh snow clung to his feathers and dripped on the banister. Ikol ruffled the frost from his frame with a haughty fastidiousness before hopping to the floor of Loki's quarters. 

Moaning in the strange tongue of magic and clutching at the goose-feathered comfort of his mattress, Loki was a restless sleeper.  

Beating his wings soundlessly, Ikol settled atop Loki's pillow. The magpie cocked his head to study the god's furrowed brows, the sweat beading upon the tip of a dainty nose, the dark coil of feathered lashes.

Such delicate beauty didn’t suit a reincarnation of himself, Ikol pondered wryly. He tried to conjure an image of a monstrous vessel that would surely suit his mangled soul more aptly. And he immediately thought of cold jotun skin and ruby eyes.

Ikol’s bitter chuckle brushed past the sensitive shell of his tiny tamer’s ear.

The tightly-wound cords of Loki's jack-in-the box spine ruptured, lurching him upright with the simultaneous song of a scream and a sob. 

Fine wolf pelts peeled from his lithe frame and slid to the floor in a damp tangle. Ikol flapped out of harm’s way, perching atop Loki’s desk instead. Loki’s pupils were swollen a deep black. 

“Why,” Loki swallowed, wetting his dry throat, “in the Nines did you wake me?”

Ikol tapped talons on the cherry-wood musingly, beady eyes glinting in the dim light. “These night terrors are becoming more frequent, if I’m not mistaking. Do you need me to check under the bed for monsters from now on?” Ikol’s eyes glittered with idle laughter.

Loki groaned despairingly and fell back into the mattress. “Oh gross, don’t tell me you _actually_ feel the need to nurture me, Ikol.” Loki took a moment to slow his breathing before he cracked open an eye to look at the magpie. “And, frankly, I’d much rather prefer a goodnight kiss.” He winked.

Ikol was utterly untouched: half-hopping across the desk, scattering musty papers and tracking wet India blue ink on the grain. “I suppose I was always somewhat narcissistically inclined,” Ikol drawled, nodding in vague agreement.

“Please, don’t.” Loki curled his lips in airy distaste.

Ikol fluttered to the youth’s shoulder. Brushing his beak through sweat-and-sleep-mussed locks, he mock-cooed. “Oh, I don’t know, Little Loki. With you—ah, _whimpering_ in your sleep I might just _have_ to give you that kiss.”

Swatting at the air trying to dislodge the blasted bird from his shoulder, Loki blanched. “You know, that is most _definitely_ not helping with getting rid of the nightmares.”

Ikol’s beak tickled Loki’s scalp sending a shiver down his spine. “Don’t fret, boy. There may not be monsters under the bed, but there will always be one ever-faithful by your side.”

Loki crossed his arms, kneading warmth into his biceps. “Okay, get off of me, you creep. There’s no way I can even remotely fall asleep now.”

Loki stalked off to the shower, Ikol’s raspy laughter bouncing off his back the whole way.


End file.
